Chương 37: 1.36. Different This Time

The Thief"That'll do it, il Gutierre." Marla straightened her spine with an audible crackle and sighed out her scriber focus.

"Tat's ready." Thank Saint Borac. Seth didn't consider himself craven to pain but Marla had an ungentle hand. And she'd been even stiffer with the hand this time, owing perhaps to the extractive two-fer deal she'd been roped into. Ofelia, the other recipient, was sitting peaceably by, her nose in a book about the Kanjiri pole-barges. Seth sat up and lowered his arms. He winced at the stinging sensation across his back.

Sometimes he wished he'd gotten these things on his arm so he could see them, but those weren't easily hidden. Annalise could pull the arm thing off, but he was neither as gregarious nor as state-sponsored as Annalise. And she had much more real estate on her biceps. And her forearms. So much space for ink. Especially when she crossed her arms and squared her shoulders and her chest pushed out. Did she have any tattoos out of sight?

They'd have to be pretty low down if they didn't show through those low-cut tunics she sometimes wore. He should have gotten a better look when they'd bathed together, and she'd—"Il Gutierre?" Marla's gritty voice sanded the daydream off him. He blinked. The sting-y sensation was back.

"Hmm?"

"Give it a try," Marla said.

"Same thing you do with the Fox. Find the new muscle that isn't a muscle, and flex it." Seth shut his eyes and focused on the spot between his shoulderblades. Finding the extension was easy enough. It was the bit of you that didn't smart from the needle. He gave an experimental flex of the new muscle that wasn't muscle. His skin went numb and cold, like a spiritual ice cube had dropped down his back.

"Hey, Agger," he said, in Marla's rough voice.

"You're fired." The shop bodyguard jolted upward from his daydream hard enough to creak his perch by the stairs.

"What?"

"You're not fired, Agger." Marla peeled her work glove off and cracked her spidery knuckles.

"It's just il Gutierre being obnoxious. But stop falling asleep."

"Wasn't asleep."

"Well done, madam." Ofelia approached Marla, as the scriber wrapped Seth's shoulder in gauze, and stuck a hand out.

"With this done, I believe we may all part as friends." Marla squinted at the extended unlit hand. She sliced the long gauze bandage from the roll and tugged her work glove back on. Only then did she shake the unlit girl's hand. Ofelia's genial smile betrayed no ill feelings. Seth shrugged his shirt back on over the gauze and buttoned it. The crisp and smartly stitched fabric—black, of course, he had a new aesthetic to uphold—was luxurious under his fingers.

Now that he'd invoked the Forked Tongue it would be another hour or so before the patch of skin upon which it was printed recovered its hexis and the passive effect kicked in. He was impatient to give his sonorous new voice a try. He wondered if Annalise would like it.

"Il Gutierre." Marla beckoned him.

"Stay back a second." Seth shared a glance with Ofelia. The girl gave him a nod and strolled past Agger, up the creaking steps and out of the criminal underworld. Seth sat back into the overstuffed leather sofa Marla did her work upon.

"If I'm not back up there soon, you won't like what happens, you know."

"Not gonna lay hands on you, Seth." Marla rolled her singular eye.

"Slippery as you are, you'd just pop right out anyway. What's going on here, fella? Rohan's knocked off, now you're all spick and span in Legion black, running around with the Verdugo who killed him?"

"That's about the summary, yeah," Seth said.

"You had something to do with it?"

"Depends on what you mean. Is it my fault he's dead? No. It's his. Did I shoot him in the stomach? Yes, I did." Marla smirked.

"You're cocky with these unlit at your back, huh?"

"You know, Marla," Seth said.

"I suppose I am."

"You'd better hope they stay that way, Seth." Marla's face turned grave.

"You've got people looking for you. Coming to my fucking door, asking about you. You better be real civil with that Headtaker, cause without her you'd be looking over your fucking shoulder."

"I'm the picture of civility," Seth said.

"I'm the hundred-and-first saint. Who's asking about me?"

"Who do you think? Syndicate people. Rohan's nephew. You heard of August al Agante?" The floor dropped from Seth's stomach; he industriously rebuilt it.

"Should I have?"

"You have, Seth," Marla said.

"Don't bullshit me. Guy was the Prossimo boogeyman." Seth shrugged.

"I don't believe much of what I hear. The young Syndicate guys are always talking about the nuns they skinned or whatever."

"When it's August al Agante," Marla said, "you believe what you hear. When it's August al Agante you tell him whatever he asks. Telling you now that if he comes back, I sell your ass out faster than a lame horse to the hexis dynamo."

"I'd expect nothing less," Seth said.

"It's like the lady said. Our business is done. I'm out of the life. I'm going straight."

"Heard that before."

"It's different this time." The spot on his forehead where Annalise had kissed him tingled.

"This time it's gonna stick." Marla raised an eyebrow.

"You're in over your head, I think."

"Nah." Seth winked.

"I've got the Fox, right? No refunds." He detached himself from the leather sofa—summoning another dull sting to his back—and left the bemused scriber and her thumb-headed bodyguard there in the dark. Ofelia was waiting for him at the florist's cellar door.

"A hard chew, that scriber," she said.

"Ahh, she's fine," Seth said.

"With crooks you have to sorta flip it in your head. The mean ones, you can trust what they say. The ones who act nice will pull your fingernails out for a brace." If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it." You act fairly nice, Mr. il Gutierre."

"Well, I'm not a crook anymore, Ms. al Ydris."

"Ah, right." Ofelia tapped her smooth, colorless forehead.

"Pardon me."

"It's only fair." Seth set off with her down the sparse Sondam avenue.

"Your mom pardoned me." Tiago's borrowed body sprinted across the plain, screeching and flapping his arms in a useless bid to reach the sky. His mother pursued him.

"Box him in. Seth, to the right. Box him in!"

"I'm trying. Shit. How'd he get out?"

"This happens sometimes," Ofelia hollered.

"Some of them are smart enough to flap their way out the door." Seth made a lunge for Tiago, missed, and skidded on the dew-slick grass. His freshly inked forked-tongue hexentat gave a protesting sting across his back.

"Are you gonna help?"

"I am! I'm providing context!" Tiago reached the base of a tree and uselessly hopped at its lower branches. He saw Seth coming, bolted the other way, and Annalise slide-tackled into his path. She caught him as he flopped forward over her, rolling with him and pinning him to the ground.

"Cuff him," she cried.

"Cuff him!" Seth fumbled the Passkey Standards (he'd convinced Annalise to invest) onto Tiago's wrists. They jangled with Tiago's mad, half-arrested flapping. Ofelia was doubled over atop the carriage, her giggle fit high and piping. Annalise lay on the ground, one hand clamped around her flopping son's ankle to keep him from sprinting away again, and joined in, wheezing with helpless laughter. A grouse with its head twisted halfway off landed in her lap and sent her into renewed convulsions.

That got Seth, too, who sat down and laughed with the al Ydris ladies, hoarse and breathless. A golden eagle flapped to the ground next to the corpse, tilted its head, and scowled at them.

"I'm sorry." Annalise wiped at her eye and left a thumbprint of mud on her face.

"I'm sorry, Sunshine. I know. It's our fault. I—""GRAW," Tiago cried, and she descended into cackling again. The eagle shuddered; its feathers ruffled and lay flat again. With a panicky squawk it took to the sky. Its shadow streaked past Tiago, who sat up and held his shackled wrists up.

"Fuck you all," he said.

"Enjoy the grouse."

"Thank you." Seth lifted the carcass from the dirt as Annalise unlocked the cuffs.

"Thanks, Tiago. This'll be delicious."

"You really legged it with that eagle at the reins," Annalise said.

"We all oughta take notes." She shoved her neck forward and put on a birdbrained look.

"New footrace technique." Ofelia snapped her book shut.

"I'm not a huge fan of grouse. It tastes like liver."

"You're overcooking it, then," Seth said.

"I'll show you."

"Save some for me." Annalise stretched her back out as she got to her feet.

"I'm riding ahead to Fontana. Should be back by dinner, I reckon." She dusted the dirt from her black breeches.

"Cheeky little boney tonight, y'think?" Seth raised his hand.

"Boney?"

"Bonfire," Tiago said.

"I'm game. What're you doing in Fontana?"

"Gotta find someone for a gander at that circle we found last night," Annalise said.

"Once we learn whatever they were doing, or thought they were doing, we'll have the last piece of the puzzle." Now that she'd ducked the chance to be useful, Ofelia dropped nimbly from the carriage roof and joined them.

"Surely you don't need to go all the way to Fontana. Lisa knows enough to glean the circle, no?"

"Nah." Annalise put her hands on her hips and studiously avoided looking at Seth.

"I want an expert." Ofelia opened her mouth to reply—her mother bulldozed over her.

"You'll all handle fine without me for a few hours, right? Seth's got dinner covered." Ofelia shrugged and carelessly tossed her book into the open carriage door.

"I suppose I'm off to find some kindling, then." Seth felt the tingling prickle of eyes on him—Tiago was giving him a frowning examination. He wondered why, for a moment, and then realized with a flutter in his stomach the boy's suspicion. His suspicion now, too. He approached Annalise as she rubbed Demetrius behind the ear.

"Hey," he said.

"You're not doing this because of me, are you?" She flicked the arms of her frosted glasses out.

"Doing what?"

"Heading into Fontana to find an expert instead of putting Lisa on. Are you doing it because you're… y'know. Worried?"

"Uhh." Her sunglasses froze halfway to her face.

"No, no. No, I'm—using a Darkness can really tucker you out." She put them on with haste.

"And Lisa, you know, she's more of an applied sorceress than a hexologist. And, uh." She sighed.

"This ain't convincing you, is it?"

"You don't need to convince me," he said.

"I trust you. I'm the one who has to convince you, right?" She sighed again and tilted her head back. The verdigris sky filled her glasses' round reflections.

"Now, what am I supposed to say to that? How did this conman I picked up turn out to be such a sound fucking gentleman?"

"May I ask about Lisa? A question? You don't have to answer it." Annalise gave a hesitant nod.

"What is it about me that makes her sure, when you aren't?" She chewed her lip. Her eyes cast themselves down, at the body she shared with her sorcerous self, as if there was an answer there to be read.

"Is she just a hornier person?" Seth offered.

"She—well, that's not wrong, I guess." Annalise climbed into her black-dyed saddle.

"I don't mean to give you the brush-off on this, Seth, honest. I gotta chew on it. You deserve a good answer."

"Okay." He stepped out of Demetrius' path and put his hands on his hips.

"Well, Tiago got us the meat, Feeli's getting the kindling. I guess I'm foraging. Think there were some wild onions in those woods." Annalise brightened at his ready changing of the subject.

"You planning something special, il Gutierre?"

"Way to a woman's heart, right?" She smiled at him.

"Leave you to it, then." He watched her ride off toward Fontana and away from whatever might have been next between them. That was okay, he decided. There was just the one road, after all, for a Verdugo. And just the one destination. Tiago stared askance at the cutting board. The knife practically blurred as it chopped the onion greens.

"How the hell are you that fast?"

"Same way anyone's anything." Seth swiped the last few verdant rings from the edge of the knife and scraped the aromatics into a pile.

"I had some hairy fucker yell at me, I nearly lost a couple knuckles, I learned." He tipped the cutting board into the spitting skillet and inhaled the sweet, savory bloom. Tiago sniffed appreciatively.

"I might need to yell more when I teach you sword work."

"Or grow more hair, maybe," Seth said.

"I'll consider it." Ofelia adjusted the pile of brush beneath the stacked wood and stepped out of the circle of stone.

"Mother generally requires sign-off on use of the butter."

"She'll give it retroactively when she tries this," Seth said. Tiago produced a book of matches. Ofelia waved him off.

"I have something for this now. Time to take it for a spin." She took a deep inhale, coughed, sputtered, and breathed out a gush of flame across the bonfire, which blossomed into eager life.

"Damn," Tiago said.

"I should've gone with you two. That scriber knows her work" Ofelia spat onto the ground.

"She's a bullshitter. She said the taste would be fine. Ugh. I feel like I've licked a fireplace."

"I can fix that." Seth passed her a plate of delicately roasted grouse, smothered in gleaming sauce, made from butter and ramp and a pour of red wine he'd likewise obtain retroactive permission for, he was sure.

"Try this." The al Ydrises took their places around the fire and tucked into Seth's cooking. Tiago's dark eyes shut as his jaw worked.

"Fucking hell," he murmured.

"Fuck off, Seth. How did you do that?"

"Oh, this is good." Ofelia licked her fork.

"Why do we not force you into cooking all the time?" Seth ate with them, to the clicking of cutlery and the crackling of fire amid a silence that he could finally describe as friendly, and felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the bonfire around which they sat. Ofelia ensured her plate was clean before she set it aside.

"I think it's time," she said.

"Don't you, Tiago?" Her brother nodded.

"I reckon the work Seth il Gutierre did on those grayfeather dumbfucks seals it." Seth took a final buttery bite and lowered his fork.

"Seals what?"

"You're part of this retinue now," Tiago said.

"You've earned our trust, and our secret. One of them, anyway."

"Do I need to swear some kind of blood oath? Because I hate in the stories when they cut the palms." Ofelia smiled strangely at this and shook her head.

"You saved my life. You saved Tiago's, as well. You happened to do it in the same day, which doesn't have so much bearing on all this but which is rather remarkable. And this grouse is really quite amazing."

"So we're telling you something," Tiago said.

"Something important," Ofelia said, and they weren't identical twins but at that moment, in that light, their faces were so much the same. One shared solemnity.

"We're going to tell you," Tiago said, "about how our father really died."